Confessional
by the house of the rising sun
Summary: Lassiter needs advice, and goes to the only place he can think of. Lassitet. OneShot turned chapter story, rated for language and sexy things.
1. Act Of Contrition

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Psych__. _Enjoy.**

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><p>"Bless me father for I have sinned. It has been..."<p>

Lassiter tried to remember his last confession. Twelve years of Catholic schooling hadn't exactly beaten the faith into him.

"My son?"

"Sorry father. It's been a long time, let's just say that."

"Alright. What do you wish to confess?"

Lassiter sighed heavily and rested his head against the side of the confessional. Father Brannigan-a Boston-born Irishman on the better side of sixty-knew that sigh like he knew his own name. _A transgression in his heart_, he thought. _The poor man_.

"To be honest, father, I'm not a believer," Lassiter sounded pained. "Not an atheist either, but I can't remember the last time I went to mass of my own volition. I wanted to ask your advice on something."

"Ask away my son." Lassiter took a deep breath and loosened his tie, the real exhaustion of a week of sleepless nights, long, hard days at work and innumerable tumblers of whiskey and rye finally setting in.

"There's a woman, father."

"Ah?"

"Yes. She's smart, funny, a crack shot-"

Father Brannigan uttered what was undoubtedly a choked cry of surprise.

"She's a cop," Lassiter blurted. _Can't even confess your sins without fucking up_. The sound of his mother's voice resonated nastily in the back of his mind. "I'm a cop too. We're partners."

"Alright. You had me worried for a moment."

"Sorry. Can I continue?"

"Yes, my son. Go on." Lassiter cleared his throat.

"Anyway...smart, funny, a fantastic cop...beautiful..." His voice took on a wistful quality that he hardly ever was heard to intone. "She's absolutely perfect, father. She's _completely_ amazing."

"But...?" Brannigan knew what would come next.

"But she's my partner. And I think she's in love with someone else." Lassiter spat out the words that were most hateful to him. _Juliet and Spencer. Spencer and Juliet_. His worst nightmare, realised.

"How long have you been in love with her?" Brannigan asked.

"Six years." Lassiter said it without hesitation or doubt. Six long years. He'd been in love with Juliet in some capacity since the moment he'd clapped eyes on her. But that was when he'd prayed and hoped and wanted his relationship with Victoria to work, if only for stability...if only to, on the very face of it, have a normal life. After it became apparent that it couldn't happen between them (_and good riddance_, thought Lassiter), he'd become more and more aware of something that he was now sure he'd always known.

He was madly, crazily, idiotically in love with Juliet, and there was nothing he could do about it.

It wasn't as though it'd been a realisation that had happened all at once. There was no epiphany, no moment of clarity, no pivotal second in their relationship that he could quite pinpoint the beginning of his romantic feelings toward his partner. It had been a slow boil between them. At the beginning, she was a pretty young thing, head full of academy training and ideals. But the longer he'd come to know her, the more he adored that about her. She was still idealistic, despite what she saw every day, and despite everything that had happened to her. _Despite dealing with you all the time._ She still believed the best of everyone, even him, and there was something undeniably magnetic about that.

"That's quite a long time." Brannigan said. Lassiter snapped himself out of his romantic carryings-on and swallowed hard.

"Yes, I agree. So my question is-"

"What should you do about it?"

"Yes father. What do I do? I can't just..._take _her from her current-" he sputtered over the word boyfriend, and ended up not saying it at all. "And it's not like she'd be interested in me anyway. I'm too old for her...I'm too bitter. I'm not like...not like _him_."

Father Brannigan was silent for a good while, tapping his fingers together.

"Father, are you still there?" Lassiter asked worriedly, pressing his face against the lattice screen between them.

"Yes. I'm afraid you're in quite a predicament, my son. Her being your partner _does_ make things difficult."

"I know, father, I know."

"My son, this is destroying you inside, that much is clear. There's only one solution; you must tell her how you feel." Lassiter's stomach churned.

"I was afraid you'd say that."

"Why?" Lassiter chuckled thinly.

"Because when I'm not in the line of duty father, I'm a fucking coward."

"Don't swear, my son. And coward or not, there's no other way. You must either tell her, or face compounded bitterness and regret." _Compounded bitterness and regret..._coward or not, Lassiter didn't need any more of either of those things in his life.

"Alright. Thank you, father."

"Go with God."

"Yeah. Thanks."

Lassiter got out of the confessional and straightened himself up, despite feeling rather shaken up. He walked out to his car, where Juliet awaited him. She had the radio on and was tapping a rhythm on the passenger's seat window.

She grinned when she saw him, and he felt his breath leave his lungs. _Being that beautiful should honestly be criminal._

"Have you eased your Irish-Catholic guilt, detective?" she asked jauntily. He smiled.

"Something like that. Lunch?"

"Sure." He gave her a sidelong glance.

"You pick the place."

"Wow, that confession must've really put you in a good mood. You smiled your real smile _and_ are letting me pick where we eat? I should go in there, I might come out looking five years younger." Juliet said.

He chuckled, started the car, and drove away. Father Brannigan watched from his window in the rectory and smiled. _Poor, poor man._


	2. Reflection

**A/N: Back by popular demand as it would seem! I'll try to make this story chaptery for you all.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Psych__. _Enjoy.**

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><p>"But Jules! You can't mean that you're missing out on the combination Fairly Odd ParentsJimmy Neutron marathon! I've been looking forward to this for _weeks_!" Shawn whined over the phone. Juliet cracked a smile, but it vanished after McNab heaped another pile of paperwork on the corner of her desk.

"I'm sorry, Shawn, but I'm swamped down at the station." she replied.

"Tell Lassie to do it." he said quickly. She laughed.

"Carlton actually isn't here today. He's working a case downtown, then going in for a physical."

"Huh. Doesn't sound very Lassie-ish to me. Lassie going in for a physical without someone dragging him by his ankles is like...oh, I don't know...missing the cartoon showdown of the _century_." Shawn cried. Juliet laughed.

"Look, Shawn, I've gotta go. I'll see you later." she said. He sighed.

"Alright Jules, adios." she closed the phone and tried to concentrate on the mountain of paperwork on her desk. _It is odd that Carlton went to a physical without someone forcing him to._

"Maybe he's just finally gotten over his fear of hospitals." Juliet mumbled to herself. A pair of passing trainees gave her odd looks, which she returned with her best Lassiter-esque glare. If he was there, he'd say something like: _move along! Don't think I can't get you thrown out on your asses either!_ Juliet almost giggled. He had always been very quick to protect her, which was something she'd always been tacitly thankful for. It showed that he really cared for her, beyond being a partner. In fact, she wouldn't shy away from calling Carlton her best friend. She'd never had problems _making_ friends, but something always made them slip out of her grasp-be it distance, eventual and irrevocable differences, or her family's less-than-stellar history. Not to mention, when she'd announced at one girl's brunch (yes, she'd been to a few of those tedious affairs) that she had been accepted into the police academy that she'd lost quite a few of her girlfriends. But it seemed that Carlton had always been there. He'd never faltered from her side, not even once. Not even when he was going through everything that had to do with Victoria (_ungrateful skank_ said the part of her brain that was governed by pink glitter nail polish and _Mean Girls_) did he allow her to feel as though he didn't appreciate and care for her. That was something unique.

_He's a special guy_.

_Not _that _special._

_Yes. _That _special._

Juliet clamped her eyes shut. _Not that crap again. Get it together, O'Hara_. The stern reminder usually served to shake her out of her stupor, but when she imagined it said in his voice, it only served to drive her deeper into her fantasy.

"O'Hara?" The Chief's tone was clear and snapped her out of her haze, finally.

"Chief!" Juliet sputtered, fumbling through paperwork. "Sorry, I was just-"

"Take a break O'Hara. You're on your lunch." The Chief replied. Juliet hung her head and nodded slightly as Vick left her desk. Juliet packed her purse and headed into the parking lot only to remember-

_I took the bus today. Carlton usually drives me._

There was, clearly, only one thing for the predicament that she'd found herself in (though, to be honest, there were probably any number of things that she could've done but chose to ignore). She whipped out her phone, dialed the only number besides 911 and Vick's work extension that she knew by heart.

_Ring ring._

_Ring ring._

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><p>He had lied about going to a physical. Who could anyway, with doctors and their creepy stethoscopes and blood shot eyes ready to stick you with a needle and bring you to the morgue before you could say boo? The very thought of it made him shiver.<p>

He, Carlton Lassiter, had worked a case and gone to church.

He still wasn't a believer, or at least not a strong one. He'd never exactly _denied_ the existence of a God, higher power, or whatever, but being on the force taught him one thing. There were cops who were given God's strength, and cops that saw the parade of human filth before their eyes, and thought, _where is this God now?_

Thankfully, Lassiter belonged to neither group, having been terrified out of certainty on either side by women in black hoods with rulers waiting to slap his backside in first grade. But he couldn't deny that since the whole "O'Hara Conundrum" had reared its ugly head (_that smells like peaches and produces smiles that are like slices of sunshine and still wears peppermint lipgloss, which is pretty damn adorable-_) in earnest, it was nice to have somewhere quiet to retreat to. Somewhere that no one knew his name or who he was or what he did. He was just another person in the back pews, sitting quietly with his head bowed. It was relaxing, after long days of taking down bad guys and restraining himself from either kissing or fucking his partner at any given second (she wore skirts to work. How did she seriously expect him to function?) to have a few minutes to himself.

And of course, as he was reflecting on the serenity of the moment, his phone beeped.

Repeatedly.

_Fuck._

A dozen old women looked over their shoulders at him in disgust. He was sure that one of them-some crotchety bag named Doherty who lived a block away-actually said "shame on you" as he hurried to the exit to catch the call.

"Lassiter." he barked, once outside.

"Hey, have you had your physical yet?" Juliet's bubbly voice ruptured the hold he was sure he'd had on the part of his heart (the _huge, ridiculous, overwhelming_ part) as his face folded into a smile.

"O'Hara," he struggled to keep his voice stern. "Yes I...yes. Just got out."

"Oh, good. I was wondering if you wanted to grab lunch real quick? I've got a case to work on the west side of town and if you want I can take the bus and meet you-"

"What? No. I'll come get you. See you in fifteen." He was grinning now, tying to get it all out of his system before he saw her. She sighed happily.

"Thanks Carlton, you're a lifesaver."

"No problem, O'Hara." He closed the phone and pocketed it, striding toward his car_._ It was only after he'd gotten into the vehicle, gunned the engine and turned up the radio (The Rolling Stones mirrored his mood) that he realised she'd called him Carlton. He loved it when she called him Carlton. Lassiter was too dispassionate, detective was too professional, but Carlton fit him like his favorite tie. And it didn't fit him any better than when she said it.

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><p>It was only after she closed the phone, pocketed it and began rooting through her bag for her lipgloss, that she realised the Santa Barbara Health Center was a half an hour away from where he had said he'd been working his case.<p>

_Curiouser and curiouser._


	3. List Of Sins

**A/N: I love all of you people. If anyone wants to know what the tango that I've been using as inspiration to write this is, it's called Oblivion by Astor Piazzolla.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Psych__. _Enjoy.**

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><p>He got to choose the place this time, and he went for the gold. <em>El Avenido Pacifica<em>, a little Argentine/Portuguese fusion place that overlooked the bay and was, due to being constituted more or less entirely by an enclosed kitchen and a patio, only a viable eatery option during the spring and summer. It wasn't too expensive and made a mean _arroz con pollo, _and Carlton was not-so-slowly coming to adore it. He wasn't much of an international, but knew good food when he tasted it, or when he could smell it being cooked fresh in the kitchen.

"Wow, Carlton. Nice pick." Juliet smiled. He nodded and loosened his tie with a deft tug. Spring in Santa Barbara was no time for ties knotted at his Adam's apple, especially not on this day. The breeze blew, balmy with just a lick of cool air, and ruffled his hair. The waves, as warm and cool (paradoxically) as the wind, lapped against the sand and the beach goers gently. He could hear children shouting and dogs barking, but it seemed distant. They were almost secluded-almost alone, in that little slice of South America. The _mesero_ came with his lunch (_arroz con currasco y cebollas_, which tasted like ricey-beefy-oinony heaven) and hers (mini vegetarian _empanadas_ and yellow rice and fried _frijoles_) and left them to their own devices. For a long time, they didn't say anything at all to one another, simply sat in a companionable silence, eating and listening to the tangos the restaurant's old speaker system warbled out.

"What made you choose this place?" she asked at length. He shrugged.

"Dunno. I always wanted to come here with Victoria...thought it would be worthwhile to try." Juliet tried not to look angry or deflated at the sound of his ex's name.

"Why didn't she want to come here? This place is pretty close to perfect." _Because you're here, Carlton-_

_Get it _together_, O'Hara!_

"O'Hara?" he asked, snapping his fingers in front of her face. "Your eyes glazed over."

"Sorry," she laughed uncomfortably. "I was just thinking of something else."

"What were you thinking of?" he asked. She looked up at him, mouth ready to spit out a clever lie, but no sound came out. His eyes were bright, unflinching blue. They deconstructed her piece by piece, figuring out every machination of her mind and soul. If there was ever a moment when anyone's breath had ever been taken away at the sight of a painting, or a building, or a piece of music or _anything_, it was nothing compared what she felt in that moment. She was simeltaneously self-conscious and enthralled; as though he had every thought she'd ever had about him on a table, and was examining them one by one. As though he could bring every wall she'd ever put up against others with one look alone-with one _glance_. It made her shiver.

"It's-" she sputtered. "It's not important."

"If you say so." he said suspiciously. She wasn't out of the woods yet, but at least she was in a clearing. He gazed out at the seascape behind his partner's head, looking pensive.

"Why didn't she want to come here, Carlton?" Juliet asked gently. He didn't reply for awhile.

"If it's too personal-"

"She didn't like foreign foods too much," the way he said it was as though it was the real, _real_ strain on their relationship; horrible office hours and miscommunications be damned. "She wasn't all that adventurous. Didn't ever want to try new things."

"Well, that's just silly."

"I thought she'd make a conscession for this place...it's my favorite. I'm sure you, with your women's intuition could tell, or something." Juliet cracked a smirk. "But, nope. She hated it here just as much as she hated everywhere else. It almost made _me_ hate this place actually. How sad is that?" Juliet thought just two things: the first; _he looks so fantastic with that suit in this light. Dear God in heaven, he's_ so _goddamn_ _handsome__._ The second; _I am going to kill that bitch ex of his, I swear to all that's holy. And to everything that's unholy too, just for good measure._

She said neither of these things, however (wisely) and instead, settled for resting her fingers lightly on top of his. He felt a jolt go through his entire body, and struggled to remain externally composed.

"Well, I don't care what she said. I love it here, Carlton." said Juliet.

"I'm glad, O'Hara." they smiled at each other for a long moment, and she made no move to retract her fingers from the back of his hand. He, while never taking his eyes off of her, flipped his palm up and wrapped his fingers around her hand. Carlton's fingers were warm and long and folded around her little, pale hand almost perfectly. Juliet knew she was blushing, could feel her heart banging against her chest like an eighteen wheeler travelling at a hundred miles per hour. But for a few minutes, she just didn't care. She wasn't moving anywhere.

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><p>It took some doing on Juliet's part, but she did end up convincing Carlton to come back to the station with her. He helped her fill out and file her paperwork, and even stayed late to take statements from a pair of kids who'd nicked their neighbor's car (McNab was out that day with a stomach virus). As a result, he and Juliet were still at their desks at 9:30 PM, having taken no breaks other than to refill their coffee mugs or to visit the restroom. Other than the two kids in Interrogation B and the officers at the front desk, there was no one in the station save for the two detectives.<p>

"Mind if I put a little music on?" asked Carlton, his voice raspy from shouting.

"Go ahead," replied Juliet. "Have you got the statements of those two kids in B? I have their other forms here, I can just put them together in a file right now."

"Sure." he handed their statements over to her and popped a CD in the boom box on the floor of his office (put there by Spencer and forgotten after a strange case involving two feuding rap groups and, somehow, a winery in the Napa Valley). However, when soft sounds of accordions and violins began to play, he quirked an eyebrow and stopped the disc.

"Did I hear...the _tango_?" asked Juliet, half surprised and thrilled. Finally, something not Motown or jazz or classic rock. This was music that was visceral, music that was _passionate_. She adored it.

"No, I uh...I mean...yes. I liked the music that the restaurant played so much that I asked for a copy of their CD." His face was the color of a tomato and he couldn't look her directly in the eye. She laughed. "It's not like I dance or anything-no, no no no. I just...they were good songs. Not as good as Grand Funk Railroad but-"

"I like it," she said jovially. "Keep it on."

"Alright." he replied suspiciously and pressed play, not quite sure what his partner was on about. She closed her eyes and listened for a moment, trying to take herself out of the station for a moment. She was back in the restaurant, in her favorite black dress and her favorite red shoes, and he was spinning her around and catching her and lifting-

"O'Hara," he said it softly, so very softly... "Juliet."

She opened her eyes and there he was, standing over her in that charcoal suit that made him look amazing, his eyes brighter than she'd ever seen them. He extended his right hand almost lazily, because he knew, at least in that instant, that he didn't need to ask.

She took his hand and without another word, he spun her into the darkest part of the hall, barely a pair of inches between them as they danced. She knew that despite what was happening now, there was still a little part of her brain screaming for her to stop. They worked together and it wasn't right. He slept with his first partner, _and_ had a crazy ex-wife, _and _was a hell of a handful to get to open up. Oh, and she had a boyfriend. Shawn Spencer. That guy.

But Carlton was a surprisingly talented dancer, and that little part could keep itself quiet for a little while longer.

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><p>"Bless me father, for I have sinned. It's been a week since my last confession."<p>

"Back again my son?" Father Brannigan had learned to identify his voice a long time ago, and more importantly, had learned to identify those little sighs he made (probably without even noticing).

"Yes, father. I'm sorry to take up so much of your time-"

"No apology needed. Regular confession is a good thing."

"Thank you. Well...it's about Juliet. Again." Brannigan chuckled.

"Of course." he said. Carlton nodded like a lost puppy

"Did she reject you?" Brannigan asked.

"No, it's nothing like that. Strictly speaking I haven't...I mean..._told_ her..."

"My son!" Brannigan cried.

"I know father, I know. I'm _sorry_. I danced with her last night in the station and-"

"What?"

"I...I danced with her in the-it's a long story father, but there was a big lead-up to it and it makes sense so...go with it." Carlton spluttered. Brannigan smirked at the lattice screen.

"Alright."

"We did that and...I mean, that was...I didn't kiss her, or anything." He muttered. _But I wanted to. And if I was any kind of a fucking man I would've._

"You really must tell her, Detective," said Brannigan gently. "Before you drive yourself insane."

Carlton nodded and dropped his head in his hands.


	4. Regression

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Psych_. Enjoy.**

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><p>They'd been assigned a horrible case wherein a little girl's body had been found in a nature reserve, mutilated and covered in blood. As they went through the wood, they found six other children who'd been killed in the same way; all brunettes between seven or eight years old. When they found the killer, they found him hanging by the neck from his own rafters, a clump of blonde hair and some baby teeth in his pocket and his hands soaked in blood. It was open-and-shut but utterly horrible, and the more gruesome the case the less possible it was to hire Shawn and Gus. So Carlton spent a week and a half straight with Juliet, and after the case closed, he could see no reason why Juliet shouldn't take a day off. He felt like he needed a week off...a month off. He could've done with a lifetime off after examining every inch of seven dead toddlers.<p>

So, at 12:45, when his phone went off and he was on his fifth highball of Jack and in pajamas, he didn't hesitate to comply to the hard command that was made on the other end of the line. He just threw an old tan jacket, pulled jeans on and headed out the door.

"Come over." she rasped. She'd been crying, Carlton could hear it in her voice. And so, despite being half drunk and being hazy with something close to grief, jumped into his car and floored it. He'd put on the siren, just so that it was legal, and he was over in thirteen and one-half minutes. When Juliet cried, he wasted no time.

He knocked once and she threw the door open with a bottle of white wine loosely gripped in her fist. Her face was all makeup and tears-two grey tracks that went from her eyes to the place where her chin became her neck-and she was in the middle of a sob when he kissed her. He, Carlton Lassiter, was brave off the field for once in his life.

He kissed her and didn't seem to mind that her face was damp, because he felt like everything else was on fire. He was holding her, pulling her head to toe to him, trying to make her just an extra layer of his skin.

And what was a bit mad about the whole thing was that she compliedtoo willingly and far too well. Hands in hair, shallow breathing, wrapping around him like his favorite shirt, and God she was so gorgeously, _gorgeously_ warm. Everything was suddenly peaches and tangoes and California sun and happiness, blessedly, for the first time in too long. He was utterly astounded, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he'd gone so long without this. The way she kissed back-as though she'd been waiting a thousand years for him to finally notice her, when in reality she was almost all he could think about-was intoxicating, drugged him, made him the weakest he'd ever been. When they broke apart, he'd have done anything she wanted in a heartbeat. If she wanted to fuck him, he'd never have been able to stop himself.

"Carlton," she breathed, her arms still wrapped firmly around his neck. "God damn."

"Yeah." he replied, wiping her face with his thumb. She closed her eyes and wet her lips unconsciously, reveling in his touch. His entire body was screaming to fuck her-to make him at least _try_-but he was maintaining composure somehow. Somehow, she wasn't on her sofa, undressed and moaning obscenely-

"Carlton, what are you thinking about?" she asked. He blushed hard, and broke his hold on her waist to run his hand through his hair.

"You." It wasn't a total lie, but the total truth would've been too mortifying to say out loud. He was sure she could read it on his face already, and didn't want anything to be more awkward than it needed to. Her response was a glowing smile that, despite her reddened eyes and the fact that her breath was more than a little tinged with the smell of wine-still sent his heart fluttering, and he yanked her close roughly (because why the hell not, right?) and kissed her again; this time deeper and with a note of need behind it. She didn't resist. Why would she?

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><p>"Have you ever thought about us like this before?" she asked, hours later. They were on the couch and the television was on, but Carlton was lying down and Juliet was on top of him, her head resting on his chest. It was as though she was the bit that was missing; the cold part of his chest that couldn't be warmed by a blanket or a drink, only by her cheek and golden-blonde hair.<p>

He debated lying to her, saying whatever was happening between them was a product of booze and depression, but when he opened his mouth to try, the falsehood died in his throat.

"Yes," he said weakly. "I have."

"How did it end?" she was whispering into his ear, her soft hair brushing against his face, covering him in a peach scent and gooseflesh. She nipped his ear gently and every part of him practically melted.

_Stop. Stop now._

"I can't." he should've said something else, but didn't. _I can't_ was all that made it out of his mouth. She looked at him, half puzzled.

"I...I can't...I can't _take_ you from-"

"Shawn," she sighed, resting her head in the crook of his neck. "I forgot." He closed his eyes and, for a moment, tried to savor the feeling of her on him. It seemed, perhaps, that he would not get another like this. He wished that his eyes could photograph what she looked like in this moment-flushed, hair loosed, face half-smiling, half troubled.

"I'll talk to him," she said breathily, promising, almost begging. She wanted him. She needed him. "I'll talk to him in the morning." She was leaving a trail of heated kisses on his neck, driving him wild, making him fist her hair gently-

_Hadn't he waited long enough for this?_

"Juliet," he rasped. "Please."

_God damn his better sensibilities._

Juliet was, however, not to be deterred. She snaked one button open, then two, trailing clever fingers on his chest. His heart was pounding hard, and suddenly he was grabbing her by the upper arms, dragging her up to him and kissing her so hard-as hard as he could.

_Those better sensibilities could fuck themselves._

"Promise you'll talk to him in the morning." He hissed, flipping her over so that she was beneath him, and his long, delicious hands were creeping under her shirt, undoing the tie on her sweatpants, kissing gently and finally fulfilling the only real desire he'd had for the past six years.

"I promise." she whispered, fisting his hair. He didn't say anything more, and didn't need to. They melded together haphazardly, lovingly, crazily.

_God, I love you,_ thought Carlton.

_What the _fuck_ am I doing with Shawn?_ Thought Juliet.


	5. Rationalization

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Psych_. Enjoy.**

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><p>"<em>Shit, <em>father." Carlton growled. Father Brannigan sighed. Confessions with Carlton Lassiter were never, strictly speaking, easy affairs to sit through.

"Don't swear. What is it?"

"I had sex with Juliet last night." the cop rasped, barely audible. Brannigan whistled.

"I'm sure you know the church's technical standpoint on marriage _sans_ wedlock." Brannigan said.

"Yeah, I know," Carlton replied. "It was kind of...I dunno. Unexpected, I guess. We weren't exactly sober and we worked a really draining case-"

"I don't need to know the details," said Brannigan quickly. "It's clear that you feel strongly for this woman. Strongly enough to drive to her house in the middle of the night, half drunk and exhausted. Don't leave this the way it is now, Carlton. You must pursue her, more than as just a casual fling."

"She's with someone else." he replied sulkily.

"I will hear no more of this down-talk, my son," said Brannigan sternly, his Boston accent finally coming out. "You _will_ pursue this woman. Whether she rejects you or not is entirely down to your handling of yourself and her true feelings for you. She clearly feels _something_ for you."

"But what?" Carlton asked.

"That, only one person can answer. It's Sunday, Carlton. Relax. Say a prayer." Carlton nodded dumbly, and stepped out of the confessional, straightening his jacket and tie more out of habit than for any other reason. He needed to eat. After waking at Juliet's, with his half nude partner tangled around him, he'd known that he had to leave. He woke her gently and fed her some lie about having to get home. He didn't even remember what he'd said, really, only that home was necessary. A shower and a shave were necessary. And about three hours inside a church, telling Father Brannigan what he'd done while holding up a line of other confessors and not caring, was definitely, _definitely _necessary. He slid into the back pew and bowed his head again, though it was more exhaustion than prayerfulness that made his chin sink to his chest.

He'd had sex with Juliet. Twice, if he remembered correctly. Judging from the sea of memories that were bombarding his senses, yes, he had slept with her twice. If everything wasn't such a mess, he'd be congratulating himself (tacitly, of course). He closed his eyes and allowed himself to savor, for a few moments, the memories he'd managed to retain. They were the little things that the detective part of his mind had managed to see and hold onto, like sensory photographs. The feel of her hair, her lips. The way her eyelashes fluttered when she said his name (over and over). The way her collarbones were shaped. The way the skin of her stomach tasted. His mouth was smiling before he knew it.

Eventually, he left the church, shaking hands with Father Brannigan on the way out. The old priest gave him a knowing look, which he returned with a soft smile. Brannigan really had been very patient with him all this time, and one day, he must return the favor. Carlton left the church whistling a tango he wasn't aware he'd heard, but that had been stuck in his head on and off since his dance with Juliet at the station. He was so content to whistle and bustle out to his car that he almost didn't feel his phone buzz in his breast pocket.

"Lassiter." he said, his tone much more relaxed than the usual commanding bark.

"Morning." it was her. She sounded, not bubbly, but as though she was almost purring; a content feline with a saucer of warm milk. _How is a man expected to stay sane when she talks like that at all hours of the day and night?_

"It's afternoon now." he replied wryly. She giggled.

"Morning, afternoon, evening. I'm up to my eyes in paperwork back at my place. Care to come over and share the burden?" she was a clever one, he'd give her that. He knew what she was really asking-Carlton, for all his esteem issues, was not a stupid man and knew when a woman was propositioning a man. Many a perp had tried, so that they could get out of having to answer questions-and he was buying into it. He wanted, so badly, to buy into it.

"How bad is it, really? This amount of paperwork that you've got." He rasped, starting his car.

"Oh, it's downright colossal. You'd better come over as soon as possible." she replied. He grinned.

"I can be there in under half an hour."

"Deal."

He hung up the phone and sped down the highway.

* * *

><p>When he showed up to her house this time, she was waiting for him in a far better state than he'd seen her last night. She took his jacket and made him breakfast (egg-in-the-basket and coffee), and for a while they chatted of things that were blatantly inconsequential to both of them. They knew they were just biding time, trying to add a little normality to the complete madness that their respective worlds had become.<p>

"So," she said at length, after he'd finished breakfast and coffee, and had even gotten the chance to read the paper for a few minutes (how domestic). "I hate to interrupt, but I _have_ got a lot of paperwork to do." he cocked an eyebrow at her.

"It's both literal and figurative, Carlton." she said. There, sitting on her coffee table, was a stack of paperwork a mile high. He scrunched up his nose in disgust.

"Ugh."

"I know," she said miserably, looking at it as though it was some kind of poor, dead animal. "But help me out. It'll get done quick, I promise."

"Alright," he grumbled, kicking off his shoes and hanging up his tie. "I'll take the top half, you take the bottom. Deal?" she nodded, and for awhile they worked in silence. All the while, it hung in the air like fog-_will they; might they? Had she spoken to Shawn? Had he regretted what he'd done last night?_

_In the end, was it just booze and panic and sex, and nothing else?_

"You're thinking too much to be doing paperwork." he chuckled-a sound that he'd meant to sound genuine, but was strained, like a dry cough-but kept his head bowed over the stack of papers, lest his eyes betray him.

"Carlton?" her voice was quiet and tense; enough to make him pull himself from the forms long enough to really look at her. She looked radiant that morning-blonde hair up in a silly, messy chignon, police academy tee shirt and old, worn in jeans and black Keds. So Juliet. So perfect. The tips of his ears turned pink.

"Sorry. Just thinking. Sorry. Hand me the bail listings?" he stuck his hand out, trying to regain the impatience that he'd always had, but it was dissipating. It always did around her.

"Carlton," she said, firmer now. "Look at me."

"What?" he spat, his head snapping up to glance at her-_every time, it was like the first time_-as he tried to be stern. But that little smile on her lips was obliterating every rational part of his brain-_dammit dammit dammit_-

"You've got great eyes, Carlton." she said softly. The flush that was threatening to creep across his features finally did. He rested his head in his hands and looked at her through the gap between his middle and ring fingers. She laughed, and walked over to him, seating herself on the armrest of her little sofa. She put a hand on his leg-it almost made him jump.

"You think too much." she was suddenly close-so close on that little sofa, in her little house.

He couldn't help himself. He wrapped one large, warm hand around her wrist and the spread the other across her face, and kissed her. They forgot about the paperwork.

* * *

><p>He wanted to ask her so badly, but any utterance of the other man's name would destroy the perfection of the moment that he was savoring. They were in the haze that hung as thick as the bayou, between sleep and wakefulness. They were sprawled on her bed, the periwinkle sheets kicked about and in disarray, breathing quietly and drifting off to sleep when he remembered that he should've asked her before he'd had sex with her again.<p>

He should've asked her before he'd even come over.

She snuggled closer to his chest, though, and he was exhausted. He let his eyes flutter closed-let her quiet, gentle form comfort him into submission. He'd ask her tomorrow. He wouldn't ruin this moment for all the reassurance in the world.


	6. Penance

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Psych_. Enjoy.**

* * *

><p>She dialed Shawn's number for the third time, and before it rang twice, hung up.<p>

"I can't do this." she said to herself, miserable. Carlton was getting coffee inside. She appreciated the irony of the situation-trying to break up with your boyfriend while your lover is paying for your coffee-but that didn't make it any easier.

_You've got to do this._

She dialed again. This time, she'd do it.

"Hey, did I keep you waiting long?" Carlton asked, opening the car door and shutting it firmly behind him. She sighed and, before the other line rang twice, hung up. Again.

"No, not at all." she replied, trying to smile genuinely.

"Okay." he grinned at her, and she felt her stomach turn on itself.

_God dammit._

* * *

><p>It turned out, Shawn wouldn't have answered the phone anyway. When Carlton drove into the parking lot of the station, he saw Gus' blueberry in the space beside his. He stole a furtive glance at Juliet, whose expression was unfathomable behind a cup of coffee and aviator sunglasses. Wordlessly, he opened his side door and rounded the side to open Juliet's when he saw them coming out of the back.<p>

"Jules!" Shawn shouted, smiling and waving his hand goofily over his head with a childish smile on his face. Carlton heard her sigh heavily as she got out of the car, and put on her best smile for him.

"Hi Shawn." she said. He jogged over and pecked her lips. Carlton felt a potent cocktail of guilt, rage and disappointment suddenly rise in his throat. _Of course she hasn't spoken to him_, he thought. _Why would she__?_

"Spencer. Guster." he nodded at Shawn and Gus and without a word to his partner, strode inside. He heard her call his name, but refused to allow himself to look back at her.

_Why did you ever think she would__?_

* * *

><p>Juliet spent her lunch break crying in the third stall of the ladies room in a nearby coffee shop. She'd left her desk for a little while to delegate tasks to McNab and to quickly discuss a few cases with Chief Vick. When she came back, Carlton was not at his desk and his car wasn't in the lot. He was gone with no warning, and had not waited for her for lunch, and that was why she was crying.<p>

She was really crying because she hadn't gotten up the courage to talk to Shawn, and Carlton finally knew. He knew now that she was a sniveling fool with doubts and fears, who wasn't really sure if she wanted to make a commitment to her _partner_-

Except that wasn't it either. She was a coward, plain and simple. He'd borne his soul to her. He'd risked his career and his sanity to finally let her know how he felt about her, and she was risking nothing by not taking a leap and breaking up with Shawn. She understood why he was angry-who wouldn't be?-but surely he couldn't _blame_ her...she was as entitled to indecision as anyone else...

_Except, you're decided. You know who you want and who you don't. You're afraid to hurt Shawn's feelings and that's all there is to it_.

Juliet cried harder.

* * *

><p>Carlton wasn't in the mood to eat (possibly ever again) and he definitely wasn't in the mood to talk. He sped to the church, and as he climbed the front stairs, he felt the weight of what had happened descend on his shoulders with every step. Finally he shouldered open the doors and collapsed into the back pew, barely cognizant of what was going on around him.<p>

He had accidentally stumbled in on a wedding, one that was (ironically enough) being served by Father Brannigan, who gave him something of an odd look before continuing.

"I now pronounce you man and wife. You may now kiss the bride." Father Brannigan said, smiling at the beaming young couple. The young woman-small, with wild red hair-threw her arms around her new husband-a gangly fellow with glasses-and kissed him.

Carlton fisted his hands in his pockets, allowing bitterness-even for a moment-to consume him completely.

* * *

><p>The rest of the day went by hazily. Juliet was there physically but not mentally, filling out paperwork and interrogating suspects like a machine. Carlton, Chief Vick said, had called from his home, sounding terrible. He was taking the rest of the day to sleep and try to recuperate, and would she be alright on her own? Did she need someone else to come in and help her? Spencer was there for the day-did she want him?<p>

Juliet said, barely holding back tears, that she'd be just fine without him. Which was possibly the most disgusting and false lie she'd ever told.

_You're talking to Shawn right after work. And then you're going to try to make things right with Carlton. Because dammit, if you don't, you're the biggest fucking idiot on the coast._

Juliet set herself in for a long afternoon, vaguely dreading the evening.

_No room for fear now._

* * *

><p>"Shawn, we need to talk." she said, twisting Carlton's tie (he'd left it at her home after their last escapade) in her hand.<p>

"Is this about that time that I stored collegen in your freezer? Because I lost a bet with Gus and I had to be Marla Singer when we did _Fight Club_-"

"No, I...wait, you stored collegen in my freezer?" Juliet snapped.

"Nope, no. Didn't do that. Ew."

"What the hell, Shawn!"

"In my defense, I make a very convincing Helena Bonham Carter-"

"Shawn," Juliet cut him off. "This is serious."

"Sorry Jules. Go ahead, what did you want to say?"

Juliet took a deep lungful of air. _No room for fear now_.

"I...Shawn...I think..."

"What?"

"Shawn, I think I want to break up."

There was a long silence.

"Oh, it's _that_ phone call." Juliet clamped her eyes shut and bit her lower lip.

"It's not you," she said. "It's me. I know that's the biggest cliche in the book, but it's true this time. I couldn't go on stringing you along when I really have feelings for...I mean...I'm sorry Shawn. I really, really am. And I still want to be friends. I do."

"Lassie, huh?" Juliet's eyes snapped open.

"What?" she cried.

"Psychic Jules, remember?" Shawn said, attempting levity.

"Well...yes. He and I," she said quietly. "Are you okay?" Shawn sighed.

"To be honest, no. But I will be, I promise. And also, we'll be friends Jules. I can't lose you completely." he replied. She managed to crack a smile.

"Do you mean that, Shawn?"

"Is Hans Gruber the most badass villain ever? Of course." she laughed softly.

"Good. I don't want to lose you either."

"I'm glad."

"Me too."

"And who knows," said Shawn. "It might be better this way in the end."

"I think it might be."

* * *

><p>He wasn't drunk. That's what he told himself as he stumbled up his front stairs and fumbled for his keys. He'd called a friend and told her the situation, and she (blessedly) drove over with a bottle of whiskey and half a bottle of rum. Now, at 3:47 AM, both were empty in the trash, his friend had cabbed it home, and he was so drunk he could barely stand.<p>

_A cop should never be this fucked up_.

"Too bad I am," he mumbled. "Ha-ha, hahaha." He opened the door and staggered in, sitting down heavily on his sofa.

"Hi Carlton." he whipped his head around and nearly fell onto the floor. Juliet was standing in his kitchen, looking slightly disheveled in what she'd worn to work that day-a lavender pencil skirt, black fitted blazer and white collared shirt.

"Holy crap, how'd you get in?" he walked over to her, swaying. She managed to smile.

"I know where you keep your spare key," she said, waving it back and forth in front of his face. He smiled and nodded dumbly. "How drunk are you right now?"

"A quarter of a bottle of rum and half a bottle of whiskey drunk," he said. "So it's a miracle I haven't gotten sick yet."

"Jesus," she said, her face contorting into a mask of worry. _Don't worry sweetheart, honey, baby-_"You really put it away."

"I'm fine." he said.

"Sit down. Do you want some water?" she asked, guiding to the kitchen table. He practically fell into his kitchen chair.

"Yeah, I guess." he slurred. She poured him a tall glass of water and sat across the table.

"Drink." she said.

"Yeah mom." he replied, already guzzling the water. She laughed softly.

"Carlton, you're a total wreck." she said, half laughing, half concerned. He finished the water and slammed the drink down onto the table. She jumped a little in her chair.

"I love you," he said thickly. "I don't care if you don't. Well, I do. But I mean...I just wanted to tell you. I _love_ you." Juliet stared at him for a long time, her hand over his across his kitchen table.

"I just love you," his voice cracked. "Dammit Juliet, I love you _so_ much."

"Tell me about it in the morning," she said. "When you're sober."

"What?"

"Tell me you love me when you're sober. Just do that for me." she said. He shrugged, and tapped his glass; a sign for Juliet to refill it. She went to the sink and turned the tap on, almost missing his last words for the night-

"I'll tell you I love you any time, any time." he spluttered. "Any time, Juliet."


	7. Absolution

**A/N: I apologise for the slight delay. It's been something of a long week.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Psych_. Enjoy.**

* * *

><p>"You alright in there?" Juliet knocked gently on Carlton's bedroom door. He opened one eye, and closed it again.<p>

_A dream with Juliet in it._

"Carlton?"

_That's nothing new._

More knocking.

_Although I don't remember ever feeling like I've been hit with a steamroller in a dream before._

"Carlton, are you okay?"

_But she couldn't be here. I haven't seen her since__-_

Suddenly reality (and a hangover nasty enough to send anyone else straight to the bathroom) hit Carlton like a train to the teeth.

_Oh my god._

He got up quickly (a mistake) and wobbled over to his bedroom door, flinging it open.

"Hi," she said, smiling at him softly.

"Hi." he replied, breathless.

"Your hair is a little messy," she said. His hand half rose to touch it, but it shook so hard that he let it fall back down to his side.

"I'm sorry." he said hoarsely.

"About?"

"Last night. I was really, really drunk-"

"You really got messed up, Carlton. I'm surprised you're upright," Juliet said, giggling a little. "Do you want something light to eat?" He stared at her, wide eyed.

"You didn't have to stay the whole night." he said. Juliet shrugged.

"It's alright. If you were going to be sick, I wouldn't want you to be sick alone." she said.

"I didn't though." he said.

"No, you didn't. It was touch and go for awhile, but you seem to have come out of the whole thing hungover but alive." she said approvingly. "Would you like some aspirin?"

"Dry toast, coffee and aspirin," he said thickly. "Yeah." He sat heavily on the end of his bed and watched her as she descended the stairs to his kitchen and dropped out of sight.

_I told her I loved her_, thought Carlton. _I told her that and she's still here._

He pulled himself wearily to his feet and stumped to the top of the stairs, surveying her warily as she pulled bread from the toaster and plopped it onto what ought to have been a tea saucer. She didn't look angry or upset, and in fact hummed tunelessly as she made him his breakfast.

"Where do you keep your aspirin?" she asked, standing on her tiptoes to look in the cabinet over his sink.

"Top shelf." he said. She nodded and smiled at him a little over her shoulder. He sat at the table and put his head down on its surface. He heard her turn and giggle at the sight of him.

"Three creams, four sugars?" she asked.

"No. Black." he croaked.

After a moment of pause, he heard dishes being set down on the table, and the other chair being pulled out so that she could sit across from him. He pulled himself up from the tabletop and looked carefully at her. She had a hopeful expression on her face, and gestured slightly to the meager breakfast in front of him. He slowly picked up the toast and tore off a corner of it.

"Why did you stay all night?" he asked. Her cheeks turned pink.

"You...I mean. You said something to me last night. I wanted to know if you...if you-"

"If I meant it?" he snapped. She bit her lower lip and nodded.

He looked at her for a long time, trying to deconstruct her. Trying to understand what she would say if he told ehr the truth-that _yes_, he was in love and _yes_, he meant every word, and how could she have ever have thought otherwise? Didn't she have working eyes? Didn't she have a working brain?

She was sitting now, very nervously (he'd seen it before in her in the Chief's office when she bent department rules, or when anyone talked about her father. Her left leg was tucked up under her, her hands clasped in her lap and her gaze trained on his face, both penetrating and hopeful that she'd hear what she wanted to. He glanced down at her hands and noticed she was squeezing them together to keep from trembling.

"Did you talk to Spencer?" he asked. She nodded mutely.

"Are you serious?" he asked gravely. Her expression changed from nervousness to half-offense.

"Do you doubt it?" she asked.

"Well, seeing as we had sex twice before you said anything to him, forgive me if my confidence isn't exactly through the roof." he replied coolly. A vague flicker of hurt passed like a shadow over her face, and he immediately regretted saying anything.

"I'm sorry, Carlton." she said softly. "I'm sorry I put you through that." he sighed and smiled gently at her.

"I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have even brought it up." he said, then took a deep lungful of air. "I love you, Juliet."

She grinned, so brightly that it almost hurt to look at her. He felt his insides crunch together; only partially because of his hangover.

"I'm so, _so_ glad, Carlton," she said, breathless. "I love you too."

He was speechless for a moment, but really, there was very little that needed to be said. She got out of her chair and walked to him; suddenly he was standing too, and he was pulling her close. He was kissing her.

_I love you too._ She'd said it. He'd heard it from her lips.

_I love you too_.


	8. Questions and Answers

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Psych_. Enjoy.**

* * *

><p>"Marry me."<p>

Carlton was waiting on her with wide eyes, waiting for her answer. She couldn't find her voice; it was dead in her throat. All she could do was cry.

"Yes," she choked out. "Yes, I will. Yes."

* * *

><p>Carlton had been planning that dinner for weeks. He was going to take her back to <em>El Avenido Pacifica<em> (he'd reserved the table a week before the date) and it was finally time. They hadn't told anyone they were dating (after nine months and more than a few quickies in the broom cupboard, they managed to keep it a secret, and hadn't even allowed their work to suffer because of it), but he was planning how to tell Vick that they were getting married. If she said yes, that is.

_If she says yes_.

The fact that it was a question instead of an order-he couldn't imagine, though, that "O'Hara! Marry me!" would go over particularly well-was perhaps the scariest part of the whole ordeal. She could say no. More terrifying still, she could have perfectly valid reasons for not _wanting_ to settle down. She was a young woman. She had a lot going for her. Marriage was not a thing that women who shied away from seriousness were generally fond of.

Nor was it to say, however, that Juliet had shied away from seriousness. He never thought of her as a great romancer or some kind of sexual paragon with dozens of salivating partners, but he'd been worried about the concept of monogamy to her. He was at a place in his life where he was perfectly content with just one woman (and what a woman), possibly for the rest of his life, but try as he might, he couldn't suss out how Juliet felt about the issue. But, as though she knew what he feared, she was the perfect girlfriend. Even their little spats usually ended well-in angry, passionate sex, generally, which is how he resolved all of their arguments should end-and there was never any evidence of flirtatiousness or interest outside of himself, which he found half mind boggling and half wondrous. She really did love him. She was perfectly happy with him, and only him. That was enough to keep him going for months. He didn't even need two dozen successful arrests, two big drug busts, and even the arrest and conviction of one of the city's most dangerous pimps.

He was careful about what he wore that night. Nothing too formal-nothing that would give away his true intentions. He chose, in the end, dark grey slacks, a white shirt and a matching jacket. And his favorite pair of brown loafers-perhaps not his _favorite_ pair. His favorite pair (as constantly described by Juliet) looked like a dog had spent two years chewing on them, and he couldn't wear them on that night. He chose the other loafers-the ones that were till shiny, if a little scuffed at the toes-and inspected himself in the mirror.

_Good enough_.

He grabbed his car keys and wallet, and the little blue velvet box, and headed to the car.

* * *

><p><em>Avenido Pacifica tonight at 9 pm. See you there.<em>

She smirked and shook her head. Typical Carlton-the non-romantic romantic. She flipped through her closet and eventually found what she was looking for-a plain black dress with a little gathering on the side-and slipped it on over her head. As she smoothed the skirt of it over her legs, she was suddenly struck with a deep sense of longing. She didn't know what for, but it was there and it was intense; made her grind her teeth and hold back tears. It came over her in a wave of rage-rage at her inadequacy, unable to tell him what she wanted.

_He's never going to ask. He's too scared._

She closed her eyes tight and tipped her head back.

"No tears," she wheezed, fanning her eyes. "Relax." She looked back at herself in her little mirror and gave herself a halfhearted smile.

_He's too damn scared_.

She pawed a tube of lipstick out of her handbag and started putting it on.

* * *

><p>"I'm asking her to marry me tonight." said Carlton. Father Brannigan nodded. They didn't bother with the confessional anymore-they sat comfortably in Brannigan's room in the rectory.<p>

"How do you think it'll go?" the priest asked. Carlton shrugged. He was pale.

"No way to tell," he said hoarsely. "Only thing to do is to hope for the best.

"She'll say yes." said Brannigan. He looked up at the priest sharply.

"How do you know?" he asked.

"She'll say yes. Trust me, my son." Brannigan replied. Carlton swallowed hard and checked his watch. It read at 8:30.

"Goodbye father," he said, straightening up. "Wish me luck."

"I want to marry you two!" Brannigan called after him. Carlton cracked a smile.

* * *

><p>The dinner had been lovely, and while Carlton waited for the cheque, they chatted about useless things. He toyed with the velvet box in his pocket, heart thundering.<p>

_Just ask her, chrissake!_

"Hey, I need to ask you something." he interrupted her in the middle of a sentence. "And it's kind of important, so...listen, okay?"

She nodded.

_Holy crap. Fuck._

"I need you to, uhm...I just..." he was failing. He couldn't speak. "I want you to..."

"What, Carlton?" he ground his teeth.

"Marry me."

He searched her face for an answer, and instead, saw her grin and then saw the tears fall from the corners of her eyes.

"Yes," she choked out. "Yes, I will. Yes."


End file.
